


The Least Cool

by skoosiepants



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-17
Updated: 2006-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skoosiepants/pseuds/skoosiepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick was pretty sure he used to have pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Least Cool

**Author's Note:**

> Written before Lorne was given a name. prompt fic: for smalldiver. Lorne and underwear.

Nick was pretty sure he used to have pants.   
  
Parrish was nodding at him encouragingly, though, and the young woman in between his knees had her fingers hooked on the hem of his undershirt, and really. How the hell had she gotten him out of his uniform without him realizing it, and why was Parrish giving him a grinning thumbs-up? Parrish had a nice smile, too. Nick’d always thought so, since his mouth was so wide and his eyes so cow-brown expressive, and was that sneaky bastard holding his _shoes_?  
  
“Wha—?”  
  
“You must lie still,” the woman said soothingly, pushing gently on his half-bare chest, and Parrish, hovering over her shoulder, pantomimed pulling his shirt off.   
  
Nick, face crinkled in confusion, obediently lifted his arms and let her tug it over his head, catching at his dogtags, leaving the skin-warm chain dangling from his left ear.   
  
Parrish stepped forward, kneeling down at his side, long fingers grasping. “Here, let me,” he said, and his voice was light, but that close Nick could see that his pupils were wide and panic-rimmed as he gently unhooked the chain, tags slipping back down his chest, and a shiver wound its way slowly through Nick’s body.  
  
Something was wrong.  
  
In his mind, he cataloged the day. Briefing, check. Uneventful step through the gate, check. Friendly natives, check. Field of blue-smudged flowers, check. Exuberant, frolicking botanist, check. Cadman and Myer had circled around to their left, Nick and Parrish headed for the flora, and then everything went blank. Not cloudy or black or muted, but completely _gone_ , silent, until he’d snapped back into reality on the grassy-patched ground, clad only in his underwear, legs parted around a pretty brunette with chocolate-colored whorls tattooed on the apples of her cheeks.  
  
Her hands were cool framing his ribs, and he closed his eyes against the stoic set of her jaw, listening to her half-lilt, a light accent that reminded him of Ireland, as she said, “Dr. Parrish, you will need to hold him down.” The words were oddly hot, and he honestly wished he remembered how he’d gotten to that point, because yeah. Very, very wrong.  
  
Parrish’s stuttering, “I-I don’t think...” was familiar ground, though, and Nick’s eyes slid open again, mouth quirked in a grin that pulled tight at the corners, thin skin dry, as if it was fever-worn and brittle and waiting to crack.   
  
His head started to pound, slow and thick like the heavy thrum of blood through his veins, gradually gaining speed and volume, and his limbs felt swollen, stretched. Then one of Parrish’s hands was linked in his, his other palm pressing hard into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground, and he couldn’t see it, but Nick was pretty sure the wet slide on his inner thigh was the woman’s lips.  
  
Vision bleary at the edges, Parrish was rimmed with gold above him, and he’d always thought the man was more awkward than pretty, but wow. “Wow, you’re tall.”  
  
Parrish’s laugh was short, surprised. “Thank you, Major,” he said, but Nick didn’t think he _understood_ , so he squeezed the botanist’s fingers and went on, “No, no. You’re like. Really, really tall.”  
  
“And does that bother you?” Parrish asked absently, squeezing back, leaning into Nick’s body, eyes flicking towards where the woman was crouched.   
  
And Nick stumbled on, “No-o,” because suddenly there was a damn fire in his right leg, spreading outward from a single point. A single point where the brunette was, Jesus fuck, _sucking_ , and his skin was raw with twisting pain, like a brush-burn that radiated deep and wouldn’t stop, and then her mouth was gone and Nick bit clear through his lower lip.  
  
“Ow,” he murmured weakly, tasting copper and salt-sweat and slightly grateful for the distraction. Vaguely, he heard the woman say, “If you would, Dr. Parrish,” and, “Please, now,” and, “On his side,” and, “Make sure you do not swallow.”  
  
 _This is officially weird_ , he thought. But that was okay, since he blinked and Parrish was gazing at him apologetically, and their joined hands were moving to sweep his sternum. He blinked again, and Parrish had dipped down out of sight, something soft and dry moving along his ribs, and then there was a warm exhalation of air just above his hipbone that ended with more of that, god, excruciatingly painful sucking, and hell, were they all fucking _vampires_ now?  
  
He felt the woman attach herself back to his thigh, nails biting into his knee as she used even more pressure, lobbing the uneven burning sensation into all out stabbing agony, and when his leg went completely numb, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.   
  
Beside him, Parrish started and stopped and started again, and he murmured almost constantly under his breath, a litany of soothing nonsense that left Nick dizzy with want layered over the pain, and that was really, really wrong, but not entirely bad, especially when the woman started petting the flat of his abdomen and giving Parrish a good old pep talk, filled with, “Yes,” and, “Like that,” and, “Harder.”  
  
Nick may’ve been beyond embarrassment at that point, spread out half-naked with a strange woman draped over his legs and his team scientist sucking at his skin like his life depended on it – and, dimly, Nick realized _his_ probably did - but he was still glad he passed out when he did, slipping from blurry to blind again before his body gave up all common sense and decided that it really liked Parrish’s mouth that close to his dick.   
  
**  
  
When he woke up again, Nick still didn’t have his pants, but at least he was under blankets, in a familiar setting, and his mind was much, much clearer.   
  
It was semi-dark, so. Late on Atlantis, probably, soft, defused blue light rimming the ceiling. He never minded the infirmary, since he seemed to be one of the optimistic types that related the atmosphere with healing instead of death. He kind of liked the clean, antiseptic scent and the slightly uneven bleeps and blips, and the hushed squeak of soft-soled shoes on quietly bustling nurses.   
  
He hardly ever woke up with someone at his bedside, though, and couldn’t decide if the sight of Parrish curled uncomfortably in a chair by his cot was a welcome novelty or not. Clearing his throat, he rasped, “Hey,” and Parrish jerked his head towards him, then scrambled for a glass of water, offering it to Nick with a worried yet relieved twist to his mouth.  
  
“Major,” he started, and Nick cut him off with a shake of his head.  
  
“You’ve sucked my hip, Doc,” he said, grinning at the man’s blush. “I think you can call me Nick.”  
  
“Ah, Yes. Well.” Parrish dipped his head, wrapping a big hand over the nape of his neck. “I’m incredibly sorry about that. Melira assured me it was the only way—”  
  
“Relax, it’s fine.”  
  
“—and when the field mice attacked, you were so pale and unresponsive and I didn’t know what else to do and—it’s fine?” He blinked.  
  
Nick blinked back at him. “Did you say I was attacked by _mice_?”  
  
“You disturbed their nest. When we, um, walked,” his hands dropped into his lap, twisting together, “into the flowers.”  
  
“I got bit by two poisonous mice?” Nick went on incredulously.   
  
“Three, actually,” Parrish clarified, swallowing hard. “You, uh, weren’t quite lucid when Melira first—”  
  
Nick held a hand up. “Okay. Let’s stop talking about that.”  
  
Parrish’s face flushed bright red again, and he murmured, “Sorry.”  
  
Poisonous field mice were probably one of the _least_ coolest animals to get attacked by. Hell, he would’ve taken a rabid newt over mice. Tiny, gray-brown, cute, furry mice that... And, really, for what possible reason would they have the ability to release venom into prey? They _were_ prey. He just hoped it didn’t get around.  
  
“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?” Nick demanded.  
  
Parrish looked taken aback, eyes flying wide, washing pale faster than he’d colored. He stammered, “Of course not. I wouldn’t, I didn’t, _no_ ,” and Nick got the distinct impression that they were talking about two different things, which made him seem shitty and ungrateful and he reached out, grabbing one of Parrish’s hands.  
  
“Hey, no. I meant.” He linked his fingers through Parrish’s and squeezed. “I meant the _mice_ , Doc. Just. Can’t we say it was an asp?”  
  
Parrish let out a slightly shuddery breath, body visibly relaxing. “All right,” he agreed, then grinned, and wow. Wow, he was tall.  
  
And he had a nice smile, and pretty eyes, and big hands. One of which he was still holding, but Nick didn’t really want to let go. So he didn’t.  
  
“Thanks,” Nick said softly after a moment, and it felt sort of like an understatement, but Parrish’s grin turned shy and he gave a half-shrug and said, “You’re welcome, Nick.”


End file.
